The Elder Scrolls: The Final Fantasy
by LapinNoire
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. FF meets TES. Tamriel is on the verge of yet another disaster and the alliances were - until now - oblivious. But with the forces of oblivion breathing down their necks, they will have to learn to play together, or die together. Rated M for blood, gore, sex, death and psychosis - all for your viewing pleasure. No kiddies ;) Pairings included.
1. Prologue

**_A/N:_** Final Fantasy meets The Elder Scrolls. I know, I know, long overdue right? Well, I was watching the cinematic trailers last night and (given that my first love will always be final fantasy) was trying to work out who each person would be, what their alliance would be like, etc. etc. Anyway, I spent such a long time thinking about it that before I knew it, I had a really long scenario running with multiple characters in it and well, I just had to write it down.

I hope and pray that you who read this like it, and that those who like it continue to read it because I really love the idea I got going on in my head :)

Anyway, the prologue and first chapter should look pretty familiar to anyone who's watched the cinematic trailers, because they seemed like a bloody good place to start if you ask me. :D

Please enjoy,

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**Prologue.**

Hunting, as everyone knows, is best done in small groups. One such small group had gathered outside the entrance to the dungeons of Highbridge. They were long abandoned, shut up years ago due to the terrible fiends who dwelled therein. The wooden planks used to bar the entrance may have been strong once, but now they were rotten, made sodden and weak by the relentless winters, rain, frost and wind. They fell apart after two half-hearted kicks. A tall Nord with broad shoulders and a scruffy beard peered into the darkness. He was heavily armoured and carried a battle-axe. It wasn't his favourite weapon, but he had lost that some moons back as it was knocked from his grasp by a hagraven's spell and plummeted into the depths of the ravine they fought beside. The battle-axe would have to do. His companions crowded behind him, 4 in total and the nearest, a dark-elven mage, produced a staff. He nodded to him in ascent; some light would certainly be handy.

His spell shot off down the narrow tunnel they faced, illuminating it as it went and revealing nothing. He let out a huff. So they wanted to play games. Fine. He could play. But he wasn't planning on playing nice.

Knowing full well they would have heard him bashing down their front door, he led his band of compatriots into the mouth of the tunnel. They were nervous, and rightly so. They had heard the tales of evil creatures, more dead than alive, but terrifying enough to still dare to walk the night. Werewolves some thought they were, Wendigos, others called them. He didn't care what they were, he certainly didn't believe they were werewolves; werewolves went straight to the hunting-grounds when they died, they never returned and troubled the living. Never. Wendigos though… He'd never fought with a Wendigo before. He was quite looking forward to it.

The tunnel began to widen the further in they went and a narrow shaft of light illuminated their path now. His companions, if anything, felt even more skittish. The light threw shadows and they feared what lurked within them. One such shadow, he knew, housed their prey. He could hear its claws ticking ever so faintly on the stone floor and its breath rattled through its throat. But he ignored it, far too much effort for just one of them. They were in here because there had been reports of dozens. A displeasing smell had met them when they entered the tunnel, but now it was almost unbearable. He wrinkled his nose in discomfort. Damn his overly sensitive nose. It always made the battlefield all the more unbearable, all the more stark in comparison to the woodlands and pretty meadows he so preferred to dwell upon.

Finally, just when he thought his nose could bear it no longer, the tunnel opened out into a cavern. It was a natural hollow in the rock and had been well used for generations as a place to store the less fortunate, the less… Honest. The cage doors were now nowhere to be seen, but the cells themselves – carved into the rock by the hands of many slaves – still housed their prisoners. They were deathly silent and he knew by the sound of their breathing and their carelessly advancing footsteps that his companions had yet to realise that they had arrived at their destination. He held out a hand to stop the closest, the mage and the others stopped also, stock still in their tracks.

The Nord took a few steps forward, the weight of his armour forcing him to swagger, and took a hand-axe from his belt. Better to start small and find out what they were made off.

He glanced around at the cells, trying to work out which one would advance first. Whichever did would be the Alpha Wendigo and if he could take that one out, the others would surely lose heart and the battle would be won before it was over.

The cell directly in front of him answered his question. It began emitting a low, guttural growl and something big shifted within. A pair of eyes dimly reflected the light let in by the cracks in the ceiling, but when the head emerged from the shadows, torn muscles pulling back over the muzzle bearing the bone to his gaze and dribbling pus and blood over the stone floor, the eyes were anything but dim. One was blinded and milky, but the other was golden and glistening. A paw emerged also and the raw, skinless fingers gripped the wall of the dungeon with a slow, grinding screech, the bloody claws gauging scratches into the rock.

Not a werewolf. But not a Wendigo either. It was… Alive… But should have been dead. Ought to have been dead. Forget starting small, he pulled another axe from his belt, bigger than the first but smaller than the one he still had on his back. This was going to need some muscle.

As slow and uneventful as their advance into the dungeons had been, now things were about to get nasty. The alpha creature bellowed forth a horse roar and as one, the pack attacked. The tell-tale scrabble of claws on loose stone alerted the Nord in time for him to turn on the spot, away from the advancing alpha, and deliver a blow to the creature behind him, cracking its jaw with the smaller of his weapons and redirecting its charge into the wall. Turning back to the alpha, who was almost upon him, he made an upper-cut with the bigger weapon, lifting the creature fully off the ground before burying the smaller axe in its skull as it fell to the cavern floor.

A third beast arrived on his left side and he slashed at it with his remaining hand-axe, catching it across the ribs before the first beast, having recovered itself, hit him from behind, spinning him like a top. He threw a leg out to stop his spinning and used the momentum the beast had given him to deliver it another blow to the face before turning swiftly to crack another across the head. The third creature moved to attack him again, but he had anticipated as much and brought his axe above his head before the thing was close enough to touch him, and brought it down with crushing force on the top of its head as soon as the beast was close enough. It fell onto the still bodies of its pack members but before it could recover or move again, the Nord stamped on its head. The already weakened bone was no match for his boot heel and caved in. One dead at least.

His hunting companions didn't seem to be fairing nearly so well, two were dead already and as the mage took out one creature with a fire spell, another moved to attack him from behind. Intercepting it, the Nord tore its throat out with a backhanded swipe of his weapon. It fell in a gurgling mess to the floor. It would probably have bled out before the battle was done.

Another of the creatures made to run past him, obviously intending to escape what was fast becoming its inevitable demise, and he grabbed for it, catching it on the end of its snout and pulling its head back. It was the one whose jaw he had smashed earlier. Slamming the heel of his palm into its gaping mouth, the Nord pulled hard and with a sickening, crunchy-sounding snap, the skinless lower mandible was forever disengaged. It spun away across the floor, now slick with the blood of his enemies and his compatriots alike.

The second to last of his companions – for he was now down to two – was barrelled out of the way by one of the remaining beasts and the Nord caught the thing around the face with his axe. Always go for the head, if you didn't hit the head then you may as well have not hit it at all. With this in mind, the Nord's next kill might have looked a little unorthodox, but it was the creature whose ribs he had cracked earlier. In a last ditch attempt to be rid of their attacker, the beast made a flying leap through the air, claws outstretched, jaws opened wide. The Nord's shoulder slammed into its sternum, knocking it out of the air, before the hand-axe was buried in its chest. It wasn't the head, or the face, but it made good use of the previously inflicted wounds and stopped the heart in a single blow. It was good enough.

Quiet now fell. The battle was apparently over. On one knee, the Nord freed his weapon from his quarry and sniffed. Some fresh air had made its way into the cavern as they fought, most likely encouraged by their movements, pushing the stale air out as they displaced it and sucking the new air in. Not many people realised how sweet fresh air smelled. But he did and good god was he grateful for it.

Somewhere above, a battle horn sounded. He glanced up. This wouldn't be the first time the alliances had fought over Highbridge; it was just unfortunate that it had to happen while he was here. Knowing his luck he would end up in the thick of it.

He looked about for his smaller battle-axe. It lay discarded some meters away; however, the Alpha was nowhere to be seen. He frowned and turned to his remaining companions. Ah. Make that, remaining companion. The mage had just pulled a beast from the third companion to reveal a bloody mess beneath. The weight of the creature had crushed the poor man's body onto several pointed rocks, impaling him upon them and – by the looks of things – snapping his neck. He was most certainly dead. Perhaps he would have consoled himself with the fact that, in its attempt to kill him, the beast had accidentally driven itself onto his sword and the hilt of the weapon was now all that was visible, the rest of it being buried quite firmly in the beast's matted, hairy chest.

In disgust, the mage kicked the creature's body, but the Nord turned away. He had one companion left and one angry, injured alpha Wendigo-wolf to catch and kill. He didn't have time for sentimentalities.

* * *

Highbridge. The gateway to Cyrodil; it had been attacked many times over the centuries, most notably by the Aldmeri Dominion, resulting in the current political climate of Tamriel and the ensuing war of attrition with the natives of Skyrim. The gateway had stood proudly for hundreds of years, carved out of the very rock of the mountain's peak, it was the strongest defence the Empire could muster and as such, it was always the last to be breached.

Today's battle looked much the same as many of the others. The first tower had been by-passed, the front door smashed in and the ground-floor burnt out, but the tower itself had been left alone. The less time wasted killing pawns the better. The courtyard between the first and second towers had been wiped clean and the remains of the battle still littered the floor, but the second tall tower that lead to the bridge would have taken far too long to overrun and so the front door, though magic-burnt and peppered with arrows, had been largely left alone. Instead, long climbing ropes attached to harpoons had been fired into the top of the tower and the attacking army of eight now traversed the long, vertical climb to the top like a tiny line of ants.

The first tower catapulted rocks at the army, but they were nothing. The top of the tower dropped stone blocks on them, but they too were easily avoided. The real problems were archers. It was all well and good avoiding arrows when they were on the ground and free to move around, but being pinned to the side of the tower made them into easy pickings. One such occasion of an easy picking came as the foremost soldier bounced out of the way of a falling block, only then to be shot from his rope with two arrows in his chest. The high-elf who was following him danced quickly out of his way, making room for him to fall, her eyes already looking about for the culprits. Two archers on their left were fitting new arrows to their bows. Before they could even sight along them, or even bring them up to draw, the high-elf's magic bore down upon them. A magical whip of green lightning shot from her hand and latched onto them. When she retracted it seconds later, they were already nought but ash.

On top of the tower, an officer shouted out above the din, urging the reinforcements to hurry as they ran up from the barracks at the bottom of the tower. The attackers were already halfway up the tower face and the crush of imperial soldiers who had gathered in anticipation behind the front door, had yet to complete the climb back up to the top.

One imperial soldier – an archer – was rushing to his post with an arrow freshly slotted onto his bow, when movement off to the side of the tower caught his eye. He slowed his jog to a walk, and then eventually a stop. Had he seen movement? Or was it just-

Amidst the clouds that covered the neighbouring peak and cliff-edge, a masked, hooded figure replaced his bow on his back as the archer who might have spotted him disappeared below the lip of Highbridge's battlement, an arrow poking out of his eye. One down, now they had even less time before someone thought a dead body lying at the top of the tower might be suspicious. With a glance to each of the ballistae positioned on either side of him, he dropped his hand in signal; fire.

The ballistae had been specially modified to not only fire a pair of harpoons into the side of the tower, but to also string a bridge between them. They did just that, but the noise of the harpoons thudding into the tower wall was so loud that it rang clearly over the other sounds of battle and attracted more than a few of the imperial soldiers to look their way. Quickly, they began notching arrows into their bows and began to fire upon the two pairs of troops the masked figure ordered across the make-shift bridges.

The masked man drew his bow and arrow again and loosed two arrows in quick succession, both finding their marks. One of the unlucky soldiers took his arrow to the face and toppled over the edge of the battlement and into the clouds below, but his spot was quickly filled by the reinforcements who were by now beginning to trickle out of the stairwell and into the fray.

The two pairs of soldiers were by this point around halfway across the bridges and were running full-tilt behind heavy wooden shields, peppered with arrows. Their luck, however, was fast running out. A heavily armoured imperial wielding a ginormous battle-axe rushed over and began to hack at the ropes attached to the harpoons. Other soldiers caught onto the idea and began to hack as well. It was only a matter of time before they cut through.

Dismissing the first bridges for lost, the masked man stowed his bow and arrow and waved two more ballistae forward, shouting above the wind and the din "Take these up!"

They were fired as he ordered and the original two were finally pried loose, falling away from the feet of the men still running furiously along them and they let out cries of anguish as they fell, presumably to their deaths. The original bridges beat themselves to splinters on the mountain's face as the next two sets of harpoons thudded into the tower wall, above the heads of the imperials and thoroughly out of reach. By the time the levers to begin the wind on the bridge part of the contraptions was released, the masked figure was already running along them. If you wanted something doing, do it yourself. He leapt to the front of the bridge and hung there while it raced across the gap, swinging out of the way of arrows and throwing knives until he was barely a hundred yards from the tower's face. Then he dropped.

Thankfully, his lackeys were a lot smarter than they looked and had used his distraction as an opportunity to fire another set of ballistae at the tower, at the appropriate level this time and it was this that he dropped onto. Still, it wasn't as far along as he had hoped and he had to resort to grabbing the ropes instead, fisting both of them in one hand before their tension sprung him upwards and the wooden slats of the bridge caught up with him. He landed squarely on his feet and took off running again, conducting a flying leap through the air as he loosed two throwing knives into the throats of the archers who were waiting to take him down. Another two found their marks in the throats of another pair of archers, these two a tad behind the first, and already he found need of two more, launching them at the swordsmen who rushed to apprehend him.

Drawing his sword, he countered the blow of one and spun to slash across the chest of another. He turned and repeated the motion with another two imperials, countering the blow of an axe man, cutting open the chest of a swordsman – an arc of blood flew through the air from the tip of the masked man's sword – and turning again to thrust his sword point straight into the exposed slither of neck between the axe man's cuirass and the chin strap of his helmet. Another swordsman, approaching from behind received the same treatment and his head dropped to stare dumbly at the steel protruding from his chest.

By this point there were few soldiers left on the top of the tower, just three lone axe men, but they would make short work for the masked man. He tossed his sword up in the air to free his hands and loosed three of his four remaining throwing knives into them. The first two found the gap between cuirass and helmet, but the third soldier was a lot taller and although the knife stopped him where he stood, it was just a wound, not a fatality. It had wedged itself in the uppermost rim of his breastplate, stuck between two rivets and had not managed to make the dive to the artery. It was of little consequence however, because as the masked man approached the stunned axe man – who could probably not believe his luck that such a thing as height had saved him from his plight – the sword which had been tossed up so carelessly into the air, fell neatly back into its master's grip.

With a savage pull, the masked man pulled the throwing knife from the breastplate. The sword stroke followed swiftly after, rendering the imperial's steel cuirass asunder and the axe man's life inert.

The battle was not over yet though, and as he sheathed his weapons, noise from the floor below signalled the high-elf's arrival. Carefully, the masked man approached the edge of the stairwell and peered over it. Sure enough, a flash of green lightning illuminated the scene as an imperial soldier – one of the last by the looks of things – met his end in a blaze of molten metal. The stench of cooking flesh drifted up on the suddenly hot air and the masked man wrinkled his nose.

The high-elf seemed to be the one doing most of the fighting, she was clearly the commander of this small troop. And why wouldn't she be? The high-elves had long believed that they were the be-all and end-all and if there should be anyone in charge then it should be them. They had proven their strength above others time and time again, but it didn't make him hate them any less just because they were right. If anything it only fuelled his distaste for them.

The imperials stood no chance against her magic, coupled with her elven armour and the quick virility and grace that so defined the lives of her people and, as she impaled the last soldier on her sword, it was never more apparent. She stood from the scene of the deed, turned and began to walk calmly away, hardly a hair out of place, not a speck of her own blood on her, as lovely looking now as she had been deadly mere seconds earlier. He scoffed and turned away. He wouldn't let her get away with it. Besides, this was his take-over as much as it was hers and he needed to make a point.

He signalled his men to descend the staircase and pick off any stragglers, then took off again along the make-shift bridges. He loosed his second to last throwing knife and cut one of the ropes of the neighbouring bridge. It began to fall past him, but, diving, he caught a hold of it and swung it out, away from the tower and around where it would eventually carry him to the back, to where he needed to be and where he would encounter her.

He could see her already through the clouds, strutting purposefully across the courtyard, beneath the huge stone beam that rested upon the shoulders of the gigantic stone imperial, the gap between whose legs signalled the entrance to Cyrodil. Almost there, he let the rope slip through his fingers and plummeted the last dozen meters to the courtyard floor where he hit with a grunt, but rolled to minimise the damage caused by the landing. When finally he rolled to a crouch, the high-elf was stopped in her tracks, looking upon him with the air of someone who had only moments ago considered themselves to be home-free, only to be proven wrong. Good, he liked her like that. Disappointed. He aimed to keep it that way.

He stood and, with a small self-satisfied smile, pulled down his mask. The look on her face this time said it all. She knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was, so why shouldn't she? She was disappointed again because this time, she _knew_ he was going to be a hard man to fight. Everyone knew he was a hard man to fight. That was why he had single-handedly taken on the top of Highbridge Tower and won where so many others had failed. He drew his sword from his back and her eyebrow rose. Yes. It _was_ going to be like that and no, he wasn't going to give her a choice.

Suddenly, before the battle could even start, they were interrupted by a beast, only half-alive, beaten, bloody and terrifying in its nature as it burst through the courtyard floor. Both he and the high-elf turned suddenly to look at it, set on edge immediately by its rasping roar, but the thing only made it a few steps out of the hole before whatever it had been running from caught up to it and dragged it back in, claws dug in and scrabbling for purchase on the courtyard floor. Its terrified roars were cut abruptly short however, by the next creature to emerge from the floor. This one however, was most decidedly human. And not an imperial. He was a Nord, if the armour said anything. And if that armour _did_ say anything, it said that this was perhaps the worst addition to the day yet. Seifer Almasy. Monster Hunter.

* * *

The Nord, Seifer Almasy, dragged himself up from the hole. His armour was heavy and it made climbing difficult, but he was working on adrenalin now and the stagger it produced was outweighed heavily by the importance his mind put on the moment. And at that moment he was stood in the cold spring breeze of the Cyrodil Mountains, staring at a high-elf and a native. He grunted as he rearranged his shoulders, rolling them back. The high-elf he didn't know and it was clear from the way she glanced over at the imperial, that she didn't know him. The native imperial however, he did know. Squall Leonhart. Professional Grouch and Sneaky Bastard of the Year award winner 6 years running. His day just got better.

Apparently deciding he would need a bit more than that toothpick he called a weapon, Leonhart took out a throwing knife. Smart move. The way that guy flung those things around, Seifer would find them hard to dodge and it might just give the guy a handle. Seeing the obvious animosity between the two men, the high-elf turned to face Seifer as well, marking him as her preferred target. He grunted in appreciation, while he wasn't a big fan of elves in general, it was nice to know she considered him to be more of a threat than Leonhart, the little pip-squeak.

For his part, Seifer focused on Leonhart. It wasn't that he wouldn't attack the high-elf, because he would, but he would get to her later, right now his bigger priority was the imperial. He began towards him and, in turn, Leonhart took steps towards the high-elf, who advanced on Seifer. They were circling each other, watching each other's eyes, glancing back and forth between each other, gauging who would make the first move.

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**_A/N:_** And there we have it... Quite long for a prologue, I grant you, but if you've watched the cinematic, you'll know there was no way I could miss anything out :D

I think I got it all, but if there are any details I missed and you think I should add them in, tell me and I'll do my best to do you proud :)

Thanks for reading, drop me a review, the next chapter is on its way...

-Lapin


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **_I know, I know, I'm a horrible person for mixing the two, but I just couldn't help myself, I had to! Anyway, this is chapter one and - like the prologue is basically a novelisation of the cinematic trailer. There are some bits missing from this, just to make sure that the characters follow my plan correctly, can't have them knowing things they're not supposed to know. Also, for the purposes of chronological viability, I have left out the end scene of the cinematic. I will include it later, but not now.

Right now, I have a story to get going. Fun fact: It took me nearly 700 words to describe 53 seconds of the cinematic. That is how action packed the darn thing was... Fun Fact 2: I have been at this for hours now...

Ok, on with the show; Please enjoy!

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**Chapter 1.**

The Nord started it, bringing his hand-axes around in an arc over his head and swinging them mere inches from the imperial's face as he ducked out of the way. As soon as his leader made a move, the mage did too, firing a fire spell at the imperial's lackeys as they arrived on the scene. The majority of them managed to leap out of the way, but the ground around them exploded into flames. The high-elf watched with a critical eye as the two men fought, the Nord missing with his weapons, but the elbow the imperial stuck in his foe's back glanced off, doing nothing to the plate and chains of his armour. In fact, the reverberation of his blow pushed the imperial to the floor and – seeing her chance – she struck, firing a bolt of lightning at the downed man.

He was too quick though and rolled to a shield that had slipped from the fingers of one of the imperials she had killed in a previous attack. He ducked behind it and the spell glanced off as he ran to another location. Distracted, she didn't notice the Nord's attack until he nearly got her, missing only by virtue of her intent upon following her original prey. The axe swing would have cleft her head from her shoulders had she stood still, but as it was, it only moved her hair.

Galvanised suddenly into moving her feet, she leapt out of the way of the next swing and ducked under the next, but the one following that was unavoidable. She had no choice but to catch the weapon he raised above his head and brought crashing down upon her. His strength however, was more than a match for her and although she caught the handle off the axe in both hands, his weight still pushed her down as he brought his knee up. Had she been a normal woman the force of his kick would have snapped her neck. But even now, she was lucky he only split her lip.

She had been knocked back some meters away from him, and straightened up now that the first moments of battle were apparently finished. It was enough for them to test each other out and it was enough to tell her that she couldn't underestimate either of these men. She wiped her hand gingerly under her nose and glanced down at the blood that now smeared the back of her knuckles. Looking up at the Nord she was almost semi-surprised to see no resentment in his eyes, and even a calm expression on his face. As if he was waiting for her to react and attack him. He was a far cry from the other man in their battle-ground.

They all exchanged glances and then the circling began again. This time when they started, it was unlikely that they would pause for rest.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but growing quickly more and more noticeable, the sounds of their minions battling around them were drowned out by the sound of the rocks jumping about at their feet. She frowned, looking down. The ground was shaking and now she could hear the sounds of chains being added to the mix. The wind began to pick up and what had started as a cloudy morning was fast becoming a thunder storm. Lightning flashed in the sky, outlining a huge circular thing in the sky. The battling minions were starting to take notice and all eyes turned heavenwards as a gigantic ring made itself apparent from the clouds it spun in.

Unless she was very much mistaken, that was a-

A monolithic metal chain burst forth from the ring, swinging haphazardly in the air for a few moments before it plunged itself into the courtyard floor, scattering minions left, right and centre as it threw them aside with its force, bouncing them from the very earth itself. The ring in the sky spun only a half circle more before the chair pulled taught and it was forced to a stop, anchored there. As soon as its motion ceased, more chains erupted from it and fell to the ground, stamping into the mountainside, carving a rift through the giant stone beam above their heads and smashing great holes into the Highbridge itself. They held the spinning ring still, even though it struggled still to move.

Every soul who stood to bear witness to the event gazed in awe and mild terror at the chains and the ring, wondering what next should appear through it. It was obvious that this was a portal. But to where? The elf had a few guesses; she just hoped for all their sakes that she was wrong.

As though to answer that great question preying on everyone's minds, something else emerged. Three more chains fell through the ring, like dead weights to the ground, each chain bearing with it a long Claw, red and black. The first chains were clearly anchors, but these were different. Very different. She for one was not eager to find out what it was, or what it did. There was no wait, however, to avail her because in the dust thrown up by their descent, screams could now be heard. The minions were being slaughtered by shadows, great big black silhouettes in the cloud. It looked now as though some of those guesses of hers were correct after all.

The chains had fallen directly in front of the strange trio and they turned to face it, one by one, the Nord shifting his axe onto his shoulder, the imperial turning his sword handle in his grip. One of them was nervous and she knew which one she thought it might be.

In the gloom at the centre of the Claws, a towering, hulking figure moved and the most horrific stench greeted them. The smell of rancid blubber made to sweat. Beside her, the Nord snorted in disgust. The figure who approached them, however, looked almost normal, 5ft 11inches maybe, lightly armoured and wielding a staff. But he wasn't normal. The tattoos on his face belied his origins and the evil, beady little blue irises that stared out at them from blackened, bloodshot eyes cast a shiver down her spin. Dremora.

Almost lazily, the Dremora raised his staff and stood the butt of it upon the ground. The crackle of power was palpable in the air before it even touched the ground, but the moment contact was made, a strong wind blew from it, whipping her hair around her face and clearing the clouds away to reveal the most terrifying spectacle.

* * *

The last of their companions were being slaughtered around them. Seifer looked over at where he knew his mage had been, only to find him being stamped off the end of a Deidric sword. In the background, one of the high-elf's companion's throats was cut and the body tossed back to the floor. Heavily armoured Dremora Lords now stood in the places of his friends and behind them, the most inviting looking piece of meat he'd ever clapped eyes on. As a monster hunter, this seemed to be his lucky break.

The towering giant seemed to be mainly made out of fat, with short, flabby little stubs for feet and a great, wobbling body balanced atop them. Its arms were a horrifying concoction of meat and metal, gigantic, evil-looking rivets affixing the great metal barrel ends to its flesh. It's hands were really no more than metal ends resembling the bottom of a metal tankard or barrel, the right 'hand' being covered in spiked and humps, the left sporting three metal 'fingers' arranged at one third intervals around it.

The head of the beat was the most awful thing about it by far. Three lower mandibles, two hanging loosely and the upper-most looking peeled and raw. There was no chin, just a sagging neck, and from between each row of teeth oosed a black sludge. Two eyes, black, glistening and lidless stared out at them.

He shared a look with the high-elf and she agreed with his idea. The giant was his. The look he gave Leonhart stated that their personal battle was far from over, but that this came first. He agreed as well and gave his sword a circular swing, rearranging it in his grip.

As three, they began a slow advance on the Dremora, who met them step for step. But for the giant, this was too slow and he propelled them all forward with an ear-splitting roar.

This was the real battle.

Leonhart took off running, one hand around his sword hilt, the other gripping tight to his throwing knife. Like the slippery bastard he was, he ducked beneath the sword swing of one Dremora, slashing at their midriff as he passed and slid on one knee around another, skidding across the dust before standing again to dive into their midst.

The high-elf also made it away quicker than Seifer and began her own battle, crashing through the ranks of Dremora, allowing their blows to slide smoothly off her armour as Seifer made for the lumbering giant with a battle roar of his own. The adrenalin was still coursing through them all, thankfully, and they were almost an equal match for the daemons they now faced.

Charging full tilt now, Seifer bore one Lord away with his shoulder, tossing it up into the air and out of the way as a second came to assail him. This he sped past with barely a flick of his axe and seconds later it was pummelled into cinders by the giant's fist. Seifer felt the air whistle past him as the fist sailed on by and he dashed between the giant's legs, drawing his axe back before slamming it into the flabby ankle. Howling in pain, the giant stomped, stepping back and throwing a punch at Seifer with the forked 'hand'. The three barbs thudded into the ground around him, missing him by a hair's breadth, and in two swings, two of them had been separated by his axe.

Howling in anger this time, the monster tried to tread on him again, stamping its foot down on the ground beside him. Once again it narrowly missed and Seifer took this opportunity to hack once more at its ankle. It was a mistake and it cost him. He didn't see the fist coming, didn't even see it when it slammed into him; it was moving too fast. But it knocked him off his feet and sent him flying some 50 meters away, onto his back.

Propping himself up, he shook his head to clear it from the clang that had reverberated around the inside of his helmet and looked up. Upon the creature's back sat yet another problem. Lots of little monsters, like some strange cross between a falmer and a skeever, they had furry, rat-like bodies and a squashed, rectangular bald heads with long pointed ears that stuck out horizontally on either side of beady black eyes. Seemingly as one, they turned to look at him, their mouths opening around pointed, rodent-like teeth to scream at him. Picking himself up, he noticed they had chains around their necks. That was lucky; he made it a principle of his to never let a monster escape him.

* * *

Across the courtyard, Squall was having a deal of trouble of his own with his foes. He was hitting them, striking them with all his might, in the neck, across the chest, but the towering Dremora Lords hardly seemed to feel his blows; even when he plunged his sword into one's chest, the glowing blue eyes never blinked in the darkness of their helm. In fact, their owner struck him in the chest, back-handed him with such force that he flew across the courtyard, tearing his sword from the Dremora's chest in the process. He landed on his feet, but it was hardly an encouraging sign.

* * *

Furiously, Seifer tore the things from his back, spinning this way and that as he tried to get a hold on them. Their tiny claws were like needles and dug into his plate-mail, refusing to let go. All the while the giant stomped around them, fists and feet steamrollering past, knocking the rat-creatures hither and thither, making them jump in the air in fright when a foot or a fist landed too close.

He tore the last from his back and stamped it into the ground, swinging his axe out and knocking another out of the air as he did so. He jumped back, out of the way of the giant's foot as it made another attempt to tread on him. He was beginning to tire of these things now. He caught one as it leapt for him, his hand closing around the furry and oddly slimy throat before tossing it too to the ground and stomping on it in disgust.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the high-elf take a gauntlet to the face, knocking her back a full 10 paces before the righted herself and drew her hand once more across her already swollen lip.

* * *

Dremora Lords. Of course the portal opened into Oblivion. There was nowhere else that something like that could exist. An Elder Scroll perhaps, but there were very few around who could read them and those who could were hundreds of miles away, in the Imperial Citadel. The high-elf glowered around her at the Dremora who circled, like vultures, ready to take her down and slaughter her like an animal. Or maybe they would torture her, she didn't know, she had never been to Oblivion and didn't know of anyone who had. Who knew what they did to their prisoners. She hoped for her own sake that they didn't take prisoners.

Mustering her magic, she blasted the one in front of her. Not lightening this time, just force. He flew backwards and exploded into ash on the rocks behind him. She crushed another into the ground and sent another spinning into a rocky plinth which had been levered up from the ground by the first anchor.

As she paused to catch her breath, the Dremora around her seemed to double in number. The swordsmen she had been fighting were now joined by archers. It would be too much to ask of her to avoid archers as well as swordsmen. They fitted shafts to their bows and drew them taught.

On an unspoken command, they attacked. She took out the first two Dremora with more force magic, exploding them with the raw power she coursed through them, and the third got a shaft of lightning to the chest. Arrows were skidding across the floor at her feet, barely missing her as she spun in her attacks, but they wouldn't keep missing for long. Dremora were a very good shot, even good enough to hit an elf. Knowing this, she thrust her hand palm up towards the sky, begging the Gods to lend her their power and protect her. They did. She plunged the spell they granted her into the ground and a green bubble burst forth, encapsulating her and successfully deflecting any arrows. But it would only last so long.

A new group of Dremora swordsmen attacked her, pushing through the protective barrier. She deflected the blow of the first man and blasted him to ash. The second was destroyed in a heartbeat as well, almost simultaneous with the deflection of the third Dremora's sword swing, before he too was blasted into nothingness. The fourth Dremora was lifted clear off his feet, before being slammed mercilessly into the deck and the fifth found himself struggling to free himself from an electric green whip. To no avail, he was sent soaring through the air to join his comrades in ashes. The last Dremora, one who had been roundly beaten, but who had miraculously survived his ordeal was put to rest with a dagger in his back.

Her shield still stood, but it was fast about to change. Dremora Mages were now beginning to appear on the scene and they pitted their magic against her shield. Blue fire erupted from their palms and burst upon her green bubble. They couldn't get through, but it was only a matter of time. She had to get serious.

Her whip shot out and lifted a Dremora Archer off his feet, holding him suspended in the air for a moment, before she lashed out with him, using him like a club and swiping him along his comrades, knocking them all off their feet. A lone swordsman charged at her, but before he could make it through her bubble, she pulled hard on her whip and smashed both the Dremora it held, and the approaching swordsman, against her shield.

Another Dremora was seized, the high-elf's magic tearing a burning swath through the broken courtyard floor and throwing the Dremora high into the air, before it curled around him and slammed him into a Dremora Mage. More were beginning to arrive and put their magic to hers and, as she raised her hand to do away with another archer, she was stabbed from behind by one of the very shafts she was working so hard to protect herself from. There was a hole in her shield.

She cast about wildly for it and was horrified to find it was quite big. And growing. The Mages were finally wearing her down and her magic was suffering. She tore the arrow from her back and cast a worried look to the Nord, only to see him knocked off his feet by the giant and sent clattering into a fallen piece of the mountain. Looking up hazily, he caught her eye and gave her a small shake of his head. He couldn't help her. He had bigger problems of his own.

She looked to the imperial, only to find him on his knees before the first mage they'd encountered. He wasn't moving and the mage was casting some awful spell on him. He couldn't help her either. The situation was growing more harrowing by the second. They needed to put a stop to this soon or they would all be bested.

The anchor holding the ring still in the sky caught her attention. It would certainly cause a bit of damage, she reasoned; perhaps even knock a few of these blasted mages out of her way. With little time to lose, she launched her whip at the thing and, once she'd caught a hold, took her magic in both hands. The thick metal chain began to boil and burn, the green lightning stripping away the outer layer in seconds. Everything was happening in seconds. The whole fight seemed to have lasted less than five minutes, and with any luck it would be over in a few seconds too. For her at least.

Groaning with the effort, she pulled as hard as she could on the whip, channelling as much of her power as she could into the chain, redoubling her efforts as the mages redoubled theirs. Crying out with the burning pain of her magic tearing open her wrists, she felt something in the chain go. It was one more tug away from snapping in half. She pulled with all her might.

The newly severed chain flailed wildly, the end catching another of the anchors and setting it loose from the mountain side, before whipping around again and scraping along the floor, clearing Dremora and mountain from its path in one fell swoop. The Nord was on his back again and was just about to suffer a crushing blow from the giant monster, when the anchor prised loose by the first chain's flailing, caught him full in the face, sweeping him away through the air before slamming him into the mountainside with such force that the resulting rush of displaced air, knocked everything around it flat to the floor.

In the sky, the ring was beginning to turn again, the first two anchors now useless, the others weren't enough to hold it and it ripped them from their places, sending them too careening around Highbridge, completely out of control.

* * *

Hardly able to believe his eyes while seeing his impending doom disappear right before them – the movement was so quick he wasn't even sure he'd seen it – Seifer struggled to his feet and stared in awe at the scene unfolding before him. The monolithic anchors tore themselves from their places, tearing chunks from the mountainside with them, levelling the buildings they'd burst through on their way down and whirling around like a storm. The Dremora also watched on as their portal began to fall apart and close, each one raising their weapon in front of their face in a sign of oath and waiting for Oblivion to claim them.

Some of the chains were snapped off by the spinning of the ring and they fell back to the ground, but the last chain, in coming unstuck, had wrapped itself around the stone beam that sat heavy above their heads. Around and around it wrapped, until the spinning of the ring caught up to it and began to reel it back in. Huge chunks of rock began to rain down on the courtyard at the chain sawed the stone in twain. The effigy of the Imperial shattered and that too began to fall, narrowly missing the horses who had at last escaped from their stables and now ran terrified for their lives. All the while the Dremora stood patiently waiting.

Like something from a horror story told around the campfire, the base of the peak on which the stone soldier stood began to crumble. The soldier began to topple, twisting; dropping bigger chunks of stone onto the heads of the Dremora and Seifer decided it was best time to move. But where could he go? He could not escape between the feet of the soldier because that rode was now officially closed and to run away was to run into the lea of the mountain and the path of the rocks which fell there. His only option was to find refuge among the bigger rocks already lying on the courtyard floor.

Standing, Seifer began to run, back towards the tall tower, casting about hurriedly for an appropriate hiding place. Just as he spied one, he was nearly bowled over by Leonhart riding a horse the other way. He was apparently going to try and make it between the feet. Seifer didn't want to watch, but as he skidding on his side to his hiding place, he didn't have to. A huge chunk of the stone beam fell before him and cut Leonhart from his sight.

The sky was suddenly blocked out by an explosion of dust that showered over him and he buried his face in his arms, trying to protect his eyes. When he could feel no more falling on his shoulders he peered out. The carnage still raged on around him, the noise deafening, his nose filled with powder so his sense of smell rendered inert and he couldn't see much of anything either. Certainly the high-elf was nowhere to be seen. He looked around for her as best as he could and thought he saw a flash of her hair – bright fiery red – before his vision was cut off again as his hiding place was smothered by the mountain.

* * *

Some hours later, he blinked into wakefulness. Immediately aware of a crushing weight on his legs, he groaned and shifted his weight. His shoulders and head he found to be quite free, a slab of rock having protected him from the worst of the rubble. He tried to pull more of his body into the space and felt an overwhelming sense of relief when his legs complied. Encouraged, he put his shoulder to the slab and felt it shift. This was good. This was very very good. He tried again, pushing harder, keeping pushing until sunlight poured in on him and fresh air assailed his nostrils. He was already at the surface.

Pulling himself doggedly from the hole, he breathed a sigh of relief, but staggered horribly when he made to stand, ending up on one knee with both hands on the floor. Trying to take things seriously again, he made another, more tentative attempt at standing.

Once successfully on his feet, he glanced around at the scene of destruction around him. Highbridge was unrecognisable. It was flattened, completely levelled. No giant stone statue, no giant stone beam, no tall tower, hardly even any mountain peak left. This, save a tiny tooth protruding from the spot where the mountain's peak used to be, was the top.

Nothing moved, but a flutter of fabric a few paces in front of him alerted him to the crumpled figure of the high-elf. Limp, unmoving. Picking up his battle-axe and retrieving the fallen elf's sword, he took weary steps towards her, treading gingerly over the rubble, being careful not to disturb it too much lest it had yet to settle.

Arriving at her side, he stabbed her sword into the ground and set about freeing her from the stones which lay upon her body. He shifted two big slabs of rock before he sunk to his knees at her side. Though weary, he still had his morals. And his morals told him he couldn't very well leave a woman who had saved his life; high-elf or no high-elf. He picked her up and settled her over his shoulder before struggling to his feet once more, hefting his battle-axe in his right hand and steadying her over his shoulder with his left.

When the battle had begun it had been the morning, just creeping into the afternoon by the time they were done. Now however, it was evening and the sun would soon be setting. He walked towards the edge of Highbridge, where the two stone feet used to be and where now only one remained. Cyrodil was laid out at his feet, the lakes and little rivers glistening in the evening light, the clouds above the shadowed land painted pink. A brisk air whipped around the mountain's new top and with it came the scent of death.

Clearly they weren't done yet, but he would have to get the pair of them down the mountain safely for starters.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Phew, glad that's over, now I can get my own creative juices flowing rather that filching off Bethesta Softworks haha

Next chapter might be up later tonight (or maybe I should say this morning) but if I fall asleep, you can't really blame me :)

I'll try to keep the chapters under 5,000, but who knows? I have been known to hit 16,000 before without even noticing it... I'll try to keep it down, but no promises ;)

Ok, leave a review, tell me how I'm doing, hope you guys enjoyed it, I'll see you in the next chapter :D (Where the final fantasy will (I promise) over-take the elder scrolls... Maybe).

-Lapin


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ A bit of a break, but here is the second chapter 2.5K words, so a nice short one just to keep things going, but not so long as it gets boring by the end. I will try to pick up the pace in a couple of weeks, but at the minute I'm a bit swamped, moving house, family dying, Uni wants work in for several different subjects all at the same time, etc.  
Anywho, please enjoy this latest installment;

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

The only path down from Highbridge was a long, stone staircase that zig-zagged down the mountainside and although it was wide enough for three horses to walk abreast of each other, to a tired man it was treacherous. Seifer slipped twice on the way down before it became too dark to continue and he was forced to find somewhere to shelter for the night. There were, luckily, guard alcoves every few hundred meters and he was able to locate one without much trouble. Having neither flint, not tinder the night was long, cold and dark. But hardly lonely. The high-elf had yet to stir, but she was a warm body and in the coldness of the mountain's night he would take anything he could get.

Pressing himself deeper into the alcove and away from the wind, he cradled the unconscious woman with her back to his chest. The narrow scrap of fabric which was all that remained of his cloak, he wrapped around his neck and remained sleepless and shivering throughout the night. First light brought with it a drizzle, the culmination of the inclement weather they'd been suffering, and Seifer cursed it to the nine. Rain was fine on its own, but he was weary, hungry and cold, weighted down with a near-dead elf and had more than half the mountainside to go. He did not need the situation to be any more slippery than it already was.

* * *

He continued his descent for another half a day, until the sun would have been high in the sky had it been at all visible, before deciding he needed to rest again. His body was aching in places he didn't even know could ache. The usually pleasant twinges produced by his training regime were a far cry from the stomach-churning shrieks his muscles delivered every time he descended another step. Finding another alcove, Seifer slid the high-elf from his shoulder and deposited her a little roughly on the damp ground, before laying down beside her and stretching his legs out into the rain. Joints clicked and popped and the muscles strained to stretch out fully, but upon allowing himself to relax, he promptly fell asleep.

Some hours later he awoke, stiff and, if anything, even more achy than before, but he felt a little better and the rain had stopped while he was sleeping. The sky was still overcast and grey, but the air smelt a lot better. He struggled into a sitting position and peered outside. Now that the mist which accompanied the rain had gone, he could see the spire of the Capital again. It appeared a lot closer now. On his hands and knees, Seifer approached the edge of the stairs and peered over it. The ground was a lot closer than it had been yesterday evening, but they still had a lot further to go. They weren't even half way there.

Sitting back and tentatively attempting a stretch, Seifer looked over his shoulder at the high-elf in the alcove. She was exactly as he'd left her before he fell asleep. Perhaps he was wasting his time, carrying her all this way, if she was just going to die anyway. Even though the thought of leaving her crossed his mind, he dismissed it. He had decided at the top of the stairs to save her, he wasn't about to run back on his own decision.

He struggled to his feet and retrieved his battle axe, stowing it on his belt, before bending once more to pick up the elf. She flopped over his shoulder and he tuned to face the stairs yet again.

* * *

Two and a half days of monotony later, he reached the bottom. Never had he been so glad to find grass under his feet and trees on either side. Besides which he was on a different side of the mountain to the one he had started out on. He could have kissed the ground. But he didn't, the bottom of a giant stone staircase was no place to stop and the path went off into the distance, following a river which meandered away through the forest, away from the waterfall and the mountain it sprang from.

He took one look at the path and decided against it, deciding instead to walk along beside it, a few meters into the treeline, just far enough to avoid anyone using the road, but still close enough to be able to follow the sound of the river. Some hours later, much to his delight, he came across a stream, a small estuary of the bigger river. He didn't know what they called it, but from the view at Highbridge, it would lead him straight to the Capital.

But that was for later. For now, it was time he had a rest. He dropped the elf from his shoulder, laying her down in the grassy surrounds of a nearby tree and root network then went straight to the stream. Tugging his helmet off, he laid it down and began pulling off his gauntlets. Once both were removed, he sank his fingers beneath the water's surface, revelling in the gentle way the water babbled around his fingers, caressing his poor, battered knuckles. It was like he had died and gone to Sovengarde.

He laid down flat on his belly and proceeded to wash his face, taking great pleasure in splashing the water across the back of his neck and scrubbing furiously on his skin until he was sure he would be bright red. But clean. Oh to be clean… The next thing was of course to drink. Listening carefully for any sounds of movement, he lowered his face to the surface and gently touched his lips to it, proceeding to suck up and swallow the water as though he was a fish who'd been beached for several hours.

Suddenly he was given reason to pause. A twig on the opposite bank of the river snapped and a moment later, a quiet _splosh_ was heard. Something, a stone perhaps, had just fallen into the river. Utterly still, Seifer strained to hear anything else in the quiet. The birds were still chirping, but that didn't tell him much, they weren't bother by his presence at all, so why should another intruder be any different? He couldn't see anything. Holding his breath, he lifted his face from the water and risked raising it higher.

A coot and her babied nearly scared him out of his skin when they crashed noisily into the water on the opposite side, the mother calling noisily to her babies as they struggled in the twigs and reeds which lined the bank, chirping noisily back. But they didn't seem distressed. They didn't even seem out of sorts. It was a little late in the year for babies, he supposed, but then coots had babies all year round, if they could help it.

Adequately rehydrated and scrubbed, he sat back on his haunches to enjoy the forest quiet. Almost four whole days had passed since the battle atop Highbridge, but still it felt like it was only yesterday. The quiet was eerie in comparison, as though the battle had taken place in a separate world.

He peered over his shoulder at the prone figure behind him. He should probably try to get her to drink some water. Or clean her wounds at the very least. Stifling a groan as he stood, he dug his hands under her shoulders and knees, hefting her up into his weary arms, before turning and returning to the stream. Going down on one knee, he supported her shoulders with one hand and allowed her legs to drop onto the grass. His hand came away bloody. The wounds she had on her legs were likely to have been sustained by the falling rocks in the last moments of the battle; it was unlikely that she would allow any Dremora close enough to make a chop at her legs.

Gently, he pulled open the collar of her armour and scooped up some water to drizzle over the blood encrusted there. It wiped away easily and revealed unbroken skin. On the right side of her face there was a similar concoction of dried blood and mountain fragments, glued there and set like cement. Seifer dabbed at this more carefully with the water, allowing the water to simply run over it rather than attempting to wipe it away. Head wounds always bled like fury and he didn't want to dislodge anything which might cause another leak. With this is mind, he picked a few pieces of the mountain free and gently cleaned the rest of her face, running the pads of his two middle fingers over the skin, clearing away dust, grime and ash.

The slopes of her face weren't as harsh as those of many of the elves he had come across before; high cheek-bones and slanted eyebrows, almost condescending even in unconsciousness, but with full cheeks and full, red lips, thick lashes and a petite, feminine nose. If he weren't so inclined to turn his nose up at her based simply on her race, he might even have called her attractive.

Her wrists, he noticed were bloody as well, the fabric of her sleeves gone stiff, like board with the dried blood. He lifted one up and pulled the fabric open. Magic wounds if ever he'd seen some. Magic had a habit of doing that. It was an energy to be harnessed, but controlled. It had to be kept tightly controlled because if it got out of control it could destroy the user. The Mages College in Winterhold was built with run-off pipes through the walls so that the blood and body parts could simply be washed out into the sea. He'd lost count of how many novices he'd seen explode from the effort of casting an effective ward spell.

Keeping an ear open for any strange noises, Seifer busied himself with removing her gauntlet from her left hand and setting it on the grass beside his own. It was impossibly light. He had never cared for elven armour. Being a man of Markarth, he preferred Nordic steel over elven quackery. The weight was reassuring.

When he came to her right hand, there was no gauntlet, only a ring around her middle-finger keeping her sleeve attached to her arm. He pulled it off to roll back the sleeve. And nearly dropped her in the river in shock.

The very moment he took the ring from her finger, her image changed, features softening even further, hair shining gold and not red, body scaling down by an eighth, or maybe even a sixth, becoming – if at all possible – even more delicate in his big hands. Rather than elven, she now looked human, maybe even Nordic and if not, a Breton.

He looked from the woman in his arms to the ring dangling from her sleeve and back again. What did the mages call this sort of thing? A glamour? There was no doubt in his mind that it was the ring which made her appear the way she had and if he were to put it on he was sure that _he_ would take on an elfish appearance. Of course he knew better than to go putting on magic rings, but he couldn't deny that he was curious. He tugged the ring from her sleeve and held it tentatively in his palm. If this was the source of the glamour then it was possible that this was the source of the rest of her magical abilities. She would be far less dangerous to him without it; not that she was much of a threat now anyway with her wrists blown open and veins flapping in the wind, but one could never be too cautious. She was crazy enough to blow her wrists open, she was probably crazy enough to try to blast him even in her current state.

The ring went in his pocket for safe-keeping.

Decidedly more curious, Seifer laid her down flat on the bank, allowing her wrist to dangle into the water and be rinsed clean by the stream and began to look the rest of her over. Most of her armour looked like standard paladin's armour, magically inclined but robust enough to take a direct hit, nothing out of the ordinary. He pulled back layers, searched about in the collar of her bilaud, dragged out her pockets and lining the contents – warding and healing potions mainly – up on the grass. He was searching for anything else strange or different, some more jewellery perhaps, a totem which could alter or enhance or direct some power or affinity.

The only thing he managed to find was an ivory carving of a mammoth with its trunk held high in the air. A mammoth with its trunk in the air was a good luck charm in Skyrim. What _were_ this woman's origins if she had one of these?

Picking her wrist out of the water he held it to his mouth, tasting a good amount of her blood and swirling the irony tang around on his tongue. Elfish blood was foul tasting stuff, blue normally and horribly bitter. This blood was red and metallic with a slightly bitter tinge, but nothing he would call unpleasant. It was a little like Ginseng Tea, or over-cooked horker meat. Unsure of what to make of that, he took the wrist away and looked back down at her face.

Only to find that both her eyes were open and looking right at him, no doubt roused by the coolness of the water. "Not dead yet then." He said to the kingfisher blue eyes. They were unfocused and barely open, but she squirmed at the sound of his voice and made a valiant attempt to raise her head from its current, hung position. But in the end she was still too weak and could do nothing more than squirm until her eyes fell shut again and consciousness left her.

As disappointing as that reaction to his question was, it was gratifying none the less to know that his efforts had not been in vain and she was indeed alive.

He cleaned her wounds a while longer, before tearing off her sleeves and using them to bandage her wrists. Securely wrapped up, he picked her up again and hoisted her once more over his shoulder, crouching to retrieve their gear. It would soon be evening and time for them to bed down for the night. He needed to find a secure location they could preferably hole themselves up in so she wouldn't be the only one having a full night's sleep.

* * *

The light of dawn began to trickle in through the bracken barricade and it teased her eyes open once more. Groggy and in pain, she didn't bother trying to move. Her legs were curled up to her chest and her arms pinned by her sides. With her right temple upon the ground it wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in, but if she tried to rectify this position she would disturb the other body in the darkness. That of the Nord if the armour told her anything. He had saved her from the rubble, apparently cleaned and dressed her wounds and was now keeping her warm in the muddy little pit he had dug for them to sleep in.

Tree roots crowded above them and the dirt beneath her head was cool and damp. She could just about make out the muddy swipes on his armour and on the back of his head, clotting the hair together in straggly lumps. She shivered. Even though she was sharing the space with a warm body, the very air held a chill. Her breath clouded in front of her face, curling steamy tendrils.

Closing her eyes again, she waited to drift off. Hoping that by the time he woke her again with his predictably noisy and undignified exit from the hole, the feeling would be gone.

* * *

_**A/N:** _The first night alone ;) What did you think? Am I moving to fast? Hahaha

But seriously, what did you think? If anyone finds any mistakes in it, please tell me so I can alter it, but other than that, I would love to hear your opinions, what I did well, what I did poorly, anything really...

-Lapin


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